Dedicated to Humulus lupulus the mighty holy plant of the earth and she is anything but evil..!!!
I promised that I would atone now for a week until the autumnal equinox. This is the time of Tannhauser. What I share here is not from me but an offering to the mighty mysteries of life.
The event was a dualistic creative assembly of many works from photographers,
or …
A pub is where the heart is, in case you have lost it.
Been staying local for some time but territorial pissing can be a drag, so tonight was a dash to do something different on a whim.
An invitation, art and continuity of friendship aroused those taking a risk feeling again.
Yes, the 101 freeway was heavy with traffic at 5:30 PM; but we could use the extra time to find a place to park.
Easing the stress with a pint before the event is always a reasonably social thing to do. So around the corner was a delightful Pub with a kind hearted giant bouncer hanging outside the door.
Guinness will do thank you or maybe a Firestone.
We arrived there early but the rats from the press smelled the cheese first. When we came back to the event a bouncer was courteous and remembered us.
The photographs were large, clean, and in your face. The general motif was a compare and contrast between boxers and musicians. The event was a dualistic creative assembly of many works from photographers.
The building was rather small but was filled to the rim with a mixture of all ages; video cameras and technology galore with the usual turned up nose.
The heart the host lacked must have been misplaced, even though he gets credit for being accessible.
I watched as youngsters bathed in his lecturing discourse like he was a professor of something. I gave him a handshake and hug.
He didn’t seem to understand that the images on the wall were all from 25 something or more years ago, just like both of us.
The heart the host lacked must have been misplaced because the bouncer at the pub around the corner had a heart. He glowed with integrity, muse, and love.
Yes, lost by the host of this event. Too bad because overall we had a great time.
I am getting a taste in my mouth for another event like this one…soon.
Carlos Palomino In Training by Theo Ehret. and Mike Ness by Edward Colver
George Foreman Training for The Rumble In The Jungle by Theo Ehret and Iggy Pop by Ebet Roberts.
Host without a Heart Henry Rollins
Hedgemon Lewis and Armando Through The Ropes by Theo Ehrel and Elton John by Berrie Wentzell
Sid Vicious By Bob Gruen, Dallas circa 1978.
Mil Mascaras The Original Luchadore by Theo Ehret and Debbie Harry/ Pink by Bob Gruen
All images of this event are taken by Hudley Flipside edited to black and white for this layout only, The original images are full color. Except for the heartless one.
8: 14 Come away, my lover, and be like a gazelle or like a young stag on the spice-laden mountain.
~ Solomon’s Song of Songs Beloved
Heart
In college I always confronted the linear perspective. I would look to the center of everything naturally and then head backwards.
“Centering” in the busy midst of a mercurial life. Hestia reminds Hermes that alone he has no focus to his vision: it’s all peripheral.
~ James Hillman; Kinds of Power
Weaving back and forth is the only way to read Song of Songs. I start with the center and then the end then go to the beginning… the focal point or the heart is always the way to understand sacred images, texts or art.
Focus
The middle
5: 21 Beloved, slept but my heart was awake. Listen! My lover is knocking: “Open to me, my sister, my darling, my dove, my flawless one. My head is drenched with dew, my hair with the dampness of the night.”
~ Solomon’s Song of Songs Beloved
Solomon’s Song of Songs holds a creation-nature- motif and it is not about the beginning or end, it is in the process of in-between. This is not procrastination it is action undefined and moving. It is nonlinear. It moves as blood throughout our bodies: move lungs beating heart and it goes around and around. It jumps between Leo and Virgo then flies over to Pisces and is rammed by Aries. Here we backtrack our footprints to our sun sign our heart our focal point. Another word for this is retrospection.
Footprints
Beginning
1: 2-3 Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth for your love is more delightful than wine. Pleasing is the fragrance of your perfumes; your name is like perfume poured out. No wonder the maidens love you!
~ Solomon’s Song of Songs Beloved
The three pictures are taken in my backyard with my little amazing hand-held Sony camera…
Last week a white albino dove visited me. Coming so close to me. At this time in my life, it was meaningful, and I reflect on this post from years ago. At this time of coyote, I now have a Coyote Kachina on my hearth for this season of summer.
Coyote has taught me so many lessons. Now the bright bird has really come to visit me in peace and as a friend. Now past my days of harsh survival, raising my kids and finding myself creative again…. It is a good time at 65… quite extraordinary in fact.
It is not a perfect world, there are things in life that I hold in a contrary way. Yet the freedom to be creative is finally to that place again which I left years ago.
Original post.
A pleasure out of the ordinary allowed to oneself: the luxury of an extra piece of cake or a foolish or worthless form of self-indulgence: the luxury of self-pity.
When I think of the time years ago when I walked away from the freedom to create by the means of so many different mediums, I cry. For this was a constant flux of luxury and I was abandoned from it. I became the coyote on the street of survival where anything that might ascend to a crescendo of creative luxury was sacrificed to those things needed as food, water, and a place to live.
The white bird of inspiration lit up the sky.
I asked Coyote, “What joy, inspiration and spirituality…shall I ascend with the bird?”
This is when I saw Coyote jump up and kill the bright bird. She dragged it back to her home in the tree. A large sideways hollow tree trunk where her babes awaited their food.
“Oh, I see you are a mother and in need of food.”
“Yes, I am sorry to shock you but sometimes the luxury of our inspirations must be sacrificed for those we love or care for. We must balance sacredness with irrelevance.”
At times like these there is no time for the luxury of an extra piece of cake or the luxury of self-pity because we simply blend into the fabric of life as responsibility. This is doing what we must to survive.
After years of creative abandonment, a bright bird has come back to sit on my shoulder, to stay and live with me!
This luxury or creativity is abundantly ascending. I move with the crescendo and I eat my cake and cry my tears of self-pity.
Bear tells me to never give up!
The creatively and luxuries of my life I will never ever, no way, give up again!
Autumn is calling …
Bear said,
“Sit with us around the fire tonight dear sister. Let us throw our worries and fears into the flame and watch them burn.”
“Bear, I always look forward to your inward pull and the call of your cold nights.”
Bear replied,
“Autumn’s creativity is a luxury but we must earn it, and fight for it, and when we least expect it… it is freely given.”
The mind is designed to lie.The heart has a mind of its own and when you put the mind and heart together strange things can happen… but then there is the sex organ mind that has a power pull of its own too. Then there is the conscience mind that an episode of X-files defines as:
“Conscience is dead people whispering to us.”
The dead may see things and know truths that we alive humans can’t understand. Not just the dead but nature and characters such as Jiminy Cricket and billions of crickets chirping every night help us with our conscious mind.
Why?
Maybe because we should not be telling lies!! It is an impossible situation. Listening to crickets chirp at night for about 15 minutes can help us to become more aware. The overwhelming gravity of constant sex calls throughout the night can force our thinking inward.
Helping us to feel regret about some of the lies we said that day. Maybe there is something to those old fairy tales after all. Who wants their nose to grow every time they tell a lie?
Some well-seasoned anxiety sprinkled on top.
Then there is the gut. We all can feel that gut feeling. Do we listen to it? I have a fine-tuned gut, well not physically but intuitively. I know when something is not right by listening to it. I know when I hear a lie. It feels like chaos and looks like the fog with well-seasoned anxiety sprinkled on top.
I prefer following my gut.
Lies are not all bad. We have all told them to protect people we love. Here comes Santa Claus, There Goes Peter Cottontail and The Grinch Who Stole Christmas are humongous subtle lies some of us tell our children. (Even though I still believe in them personally.)
The lies that really hurt us, others or the world in general are the big lies that suppress us as a people. Governments, corporations, and organized religion are good at these types of big black widow lies.
These are the kind of lies our government told to our American Indian brothers and sisters.
The throwing in the wrench lie.
Then to conclude this little essay I will speak about the throwing in the wrench lie. It is when you tell a lie in order to see how gossip spreads. This is a fun one to practice. This is what gangsters do in order to find out where their loyalties lie. I have done this a couple of times to see where my loyalties abide but I prefer following my gut. It never lies!
“I guess every form of refuge has its price…” ain’t that the truth…
How can we tell the world who we really are if we mask our wisdom, our soul, and ourselves behind plastic faces of obscurity-absurdity?
The limousine drove up and parked near the vegetable produce store. It was a cold morning and the mist from storm drains, coffees shops and exhausts merged and played in the air. A round woman was bending over some tomatoes and grabbed one to put in her cart. At that time, her headdress fell exposing her face and grey hair. She must have been about seventy years old.
A man in the limousine saw her before. It was part of his routine to park and look at her in the morning. He followed her routine too, yet she looked different to him of course. He sensed it and today he saw it as he thought to himself,
“Women today never age past thirty. Plastic surgery is as common as buying toilet paper. Why is she not young-looking as well?”
He was intrigued with this woman who held herself with such natural grace and wisdom. Her deep purple headdress highlighted the grey in her hair. Today he got out of his dark car and walked over near to her.
“Yes, the tomatoes look fresh today!”
“Yes,” she said with a firm look in her eyes.
He then noticed the wrinkles forming around her eyes and mouth, and as they continued to talk her words and facial expressions showed so much wisdom. He thought to himself,
“I can see that every wrinkly has an echo of many laughs and tears. Her experience from living life shows on her face. This is refreshing and honest. I think I will ask her for a ride in my car.”
“Not today but maybe tomorrow.”
This went on for a few weeks until the day when she said yes. They spent the day driving around the city in his cool limousine. He offered her pink champagne and in return she told him why.
“I am not like other women, I know. I will tell you why. As our culture became more and more obsessed with beauty, I became more and more withdrawn. I had a wild tomato plant growing near a drainage ditch near the end of my small backyard in the city.
Throughout the year I watched it grow, from blossoms, fruit and then towards slow decay. I’ve learned to appreciate the life cycles of the tomatoes plant and of nature in general. This is the tomato wisdom shared with me!
He held her softy and listened.
“How can we tell the world who we really are if we mask our wisdom, our soul, and ourselves behind plastic faces of obscurity-absurdity?”
And so, the two of them found a small room in the city and grew older together. Keeping to themselves and growing a small little garden with herbs, flowers and of course tomatoes.
But we should realize that both the alcoholic and the bodhisattva are yearning for (and with the bodhisattva actually working for) a situation in which individual egos are not separate. ~ Tim Lyons
I don’t remember the name of the bookstore. It was close to Odyssey Video near the crossroads of Camarillo St, Vineland Ave, and Lankershim Blvd. During the mid-nineties, this video store held mysteries and films to find. The bookstore is next to it too. There is a wide selection of books, film scripts and beyond at this amazing bookstore. We found this limited edition by Yeats for my graduation.
This book printed by C.F. Benoit by the Brothers Johnson at The Windsor Press: 750 copies printed on Rye hand-made paper and the type distributed. In the year MCMXXVI.
This beloved hand-held book, The Land Of Heart’s Desire, has traveled through various living spaces and now sits on the hearth above the fireplace, where it inspires dreams of Celtic twilight and Faeryland during summer readings.
This little folk-lore -story-play is not so content and the conflict is wild as the call of the fay by song and dance is true:
‘The wind blows out the gates of the day,
The wind blows over the lonely of heart,
And the lonely of heart is withered away,
Shaking their milk-white feet in a ring,
Tossing their milk-white arms in the air;
For they hear the wind laugh and murmur and sing…”
As Maire Bruin is called away, so she goes… and so would I … would you? A wonderful read this time of year!!
This time of the year, as we dance from spring to summer or summer to autumn or autumn to winter… or winter into spring…
is a challenging time for all humanity and nature.
The hardest times of the year for me; my pineal gland throbs like a character from a H.P. Lovecraft story.
The dusk brings the whispering of angry tongues and betrayal. I see the attack of a giant pornographic immorality in advertisement and from politicians’ mouths.
The world seems to be on the way of being shipped out!
Yet this is just my shadow speaking to me and maybe it is amplified with other shadows lurking and flying in the dark.
We cannot “ship it out” we need to look at it,
Yell at it and understand those parts of ourselves that we do not like.
We might try to do what the ancient mysteries tell us to do?
It is all about transmuting base metals into gold.
Cleaning our the bomb shelter
This is the best time of the year to take inventory of one’s personality traits; also known as character and attributes. Ancient mysteries speak of the mystic marriage at the summer solstice. Parsifal and the Holy Grail and Arthurian legends speak of these times. It really all comes down to character. The Rosicrucian’s state “character is destiny.”
Carl Jung speaks of individuation. This is when we combine” being alike” with “being unique;” being an extrovert with being an introvert! The marriage is a joining of the feminine and masculine too where the result is androgynous “ising.” This is an ongoing motif in all cultures.
The quote “shape up or ship out” smells of duality; It might be more reflective to say as Native Americans call it “the great give away” or how I was brought up doing “spring” cleaning.
The Sumer goddess Inanna is torn apart in the underworld and then comes together again before she ascends into the heavens to be with her lover and king: The mystic marriage once more.
The personality traits we do not like in ourselves are only our shadow. If we listen to our shadow, we can befriend it “invite the devil to tea” and grow more authentically.
Can we become stuck in the duel with our shadowy self where egotism, hate, narcissistic tendencies, and uncaring controls us like a puppet. You bet. We are all part of this living drama.
If one is to brighten their character one can look to others, they admire. A friend of mine who I admire posted this quote on Facebook today.
“You begin saving the world by saving one man at a time; all else is grandiose romanticism or politics.” ~ Charles Bukowski
I do not like Charles Bukowski because he reminds me of my drunken’ dad but I acknowledge the wise words that he has learned through much suffering. I prefer this quote about character building,
“Tell your friends everything. Give away your secrets. “Be wise as serpents and gentle as doves.” ~ Allen Ginsberg
For me it is about; am I being humble or arrogant, conceited or ego-eccentric? Am I achieving social independence or am I pulled into the realm of social approval? Can I be trusting, or do I listen to the green-eyed monster of suspicion?
As a woman pride is not the problem… am I confident in all that I do? Not just as a mother, wife, sister, or daughter but as a feminine being… a unique upstart at times…. yes unique, creative, and true to myself!!!
All around me I feel the invisible walls. Maybe a cell membrane that holds me in.
It is a cocoon.
The darkness melts my body and whispers stories of weeping, hate and betrayal. As the full moon ascends on the horizon, I feel the depth and heat of her breath as she addresses me. She is dark and hides the light. This is the process of metamorphosis.
Living in the patriarchal world this process is outright ignored. Yet, women throughout history know it well, for those of us who pass through it. I am not talking about the happy, good, rise-above women who functions as if in a dysfunctional relationship to men. I am talking about the women who hold owls, serpents, and insects.
The mermaids and sirens that men can not violate or listen to.
Women bear up children, and mysteries, which are not meant for the souls of men. Women hold within them those freaky looking, metamorphosis looking, creatures in their wombs.
Tadpoles, tails, and big heads swim in the hot environment.
Asleep she was drawn to the being-0f-light outside the open window; upon the wall of the old garage converted into a boy’s room.
“Come with me there has been an airplane crash.”
She flew and followed the being-of-light over the valley. They both whipped through the air. They were swimming through the air. Her belly felt as if riding on a swing.
“That does not look like an airplane crash,” she said.
The fire and flames turned into a spacecraft. There was a large door. It opened and there before her and the-being-of-light was a small little grey-being with elaborate clothing. Not a word was spoken but a beam of light, like a razor beam, focused from the little grey-being to her.
“What is this? All these images are pouring into my brain. Symbols, numbers on and on they go… I cannot manage this…I think I will collapse.”
She then noticed the beam of light stop. It was over.
The being-of- light flew her back to where she was sleeping.
Our little Sony Cyber-Shot camera takes amazing pictures. This camera was a christmas present to my son from his grandmother. My son and I both use it. It is our creative friend.
The image is of a human shadow that is “one” with a tree nymph of a cypress tree in a garden. Two shadows merge together as one. It you study the image you will notice aspects of the tree shadow blending with the human shadow. A hand and thumb extend out from the cypress. The human is slightly bent to right with a hidden shadowy tree nymph. There is magic in this garden.
Look to the background: look towards the shadowy places in your garden.. and you will find the nature spirits there.
This is our time for “amber moments,” those fleeting instances that capture the essence of joy and nostalgia, where we pause to savor the warmth of the sun as it dips below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and orange, reminding us to cherish the beauty in our everyday lives, creating lasting memories that we can revisit long after the day has ended.
“Earthlings might learn to do.
If they tried hard enough:
Ignore the awful times
And concentrate on the good ones.”
~ Tralfamadorians: Slaughter-House Five/ Kurt Vonnegut.
While partaking on the journey into the underworld at the time of Crone, times are confusing and painfully depressing. Ya think? Today I found a friend that showed me some simple techniques of strength. It lives in the ocean. Deeply it wonders and lives there in the dark oceans. Symbolically linked to the Underworld and Cretan symbolism.
“Because it lives in the depths and because of its sea-monster appearance, it is linked with the spirits of the underworld. However, where it is used as a motif in Cretan art, it carries a similar symbolism to that of the spiral and the spider’s web, themselves both emblematic of creation of the universe.”
pg. 286, The Element Encyclopedia of Secret Signs and Symbols Fauna Adela Nozedar.
An early meditation outside led me to this image to get rid of my busy thinking mind. I was aligning my chakras straight from above down and then pulling the earth from below up. I then focused on my pelvis area on my body.
She came forth and I used her legs to whack busy thoughts that came forth like a paddle against ping-pong balls. I looked at my thoughts and whacked them away.
It was fun. Then the synchronicities started to happen; I knew it was time to investigate. I went looking through my books and found another interesting perspective.
Along with being associated with the underworld and the spiraling creative living universe she also is associated with the serpent known as the Kundalini.
“She was also Kundalini, the inner female soul of man in serpent shape, coiled in the pelvis, induced through proper practice of yoga to uncoil and mount through the spinal chakra toward the head, bringing infinite wisdom.”
How is this different for me as a woman. The inner man soul of woman in serpent shape?
Serpent: page 903, The Women’s encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets: Barbara G. Walker
If whacking images and thoughts away from my mind is part of this so-called infinite wisdom… than I am happier than usual. I will continue to study octopi!!
To “the untamed divinities of nature-the oceans, the deserts, the magma at the earth’s core and the powers of storm and rain… the old pagan nature Gods [Goddesses] have not altogether been subdued by the world unification plans of god, the Economy.”
I listen to a diversity of songs all the time. What I like best about songs are when they talk to me. I talk with them so why not them with me. I use them in my posting as highlighters to accentuate the theme of my postings. If you trip through my musical posting they will tell you a story… oh my I revealed myself again. I think you can do this with most writers.
When songs talk to you it is important. I call it synchronicity listening. At the appropriate time a song comes forth and you know it’s talking to you. Why, you must think about it to find the answer: not take it lightly, it has meaning. One song that did this recently is Love Buzz. It was years ago when I first heard it!
Nirvanabrought it back from the dead. A band named Shocking Blue created the original recording of this song. I like both but prefer the original. I like the depth of Mariska Veresvocal style. It sounds like the dark Goddess graphing me by the heart into the underworld. I feel this song is about the power and even imperfection of love and the overwhelming seduction and abuse of it, but It can hale true!
I posted the song on my Facebook a few days back. Then I went out to the local pub and a friendly DJ played the song as soon as I drank my first pint. Stunned, I felt the hairs on my back go up. I realize that stepping out for the night was a good thing.
We were meant to be where we were at that time and place in history. With so many opportunities available at the time, so much going on with old and new friends it was the place to be. Life in general was being shady.
I realized when the song played that life is a real bitch sometimes, but I am gracefully loved and being taken care of.
I love songs!!! This one of the Praying Mantis theme songs.
We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War’s a spiritual war… our Great Depression is our lives. We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.
~Tyler Durden
“This is the Beat Generation” which appeared in the New York Times Magazine on November 16, 1952 and attempted to define the very essence of the young people of the movement. He wrote that those of the Beat Generation harbored more than just weariness, but carried raw feelings of being used and endured a nakedness of mind and soul. Jack Kerouac countered in interviews by explaining that “beat” really meant “beatific” or “sacred,” and many interpreted his works as exercises in capturing the holiness of the downtrodden.”
Listening to the shock over the last few years, in general, of our young men, who kill with weapons of mass destruction? Now I see it is not a gun or assault weapon that we should worry about but any sort of destructive tool. I ask this question, are all of these random acts of violence random? It is beyond religion, race, or country. These young men have intelligence, college and lack accountability. I hold parents, institutions, and all of us accountable too. I see this as a global problem. My insight tells me that we are seeing a manifestation of repressed shadow at play, with roots that are deep in the unconscious of these young men: manifesting in our young men in times of disillusionment and abasement. How else can we understand this hate, malice and disregard for life, joy, and innocence?
I have spent a good deal of my life with rebellious men; ones that I watched in films, those in bands, artists, and writers. Rebellion is healthy in any culture. It asks questions and plays with a culture creatively and freely. Yet, what I see now goes much further and deeper and shows us the real face of a powerful diabolical shadow. It needs a name.
My son is a part of this generation of young men, he grew up with the Matrix, Harry Potter, and Lord of The Rings, not to forget to mention all of the anime cartoons and comic books. Somehow the foresight of these stories, myths and archetypes draws upon the individual young men and their ability to endure and conquer the evils of the world, but some of the characters, on an individual level, join this shadow and do untold harm to others and a culture. We need these stories now and I am glad they are here.
I am listening deeply, and this new generation of young men have an intense unconscious to deal with. Some pop under this pressure.
I am not talking about gangs, or any drug culture supported by addicts that are unaware and adrift in it. I see something deeper and beyond this… like cancer.
So, what can we do? Well, reflecting on what I am saying and considering what I am saying, is a good start. I am sure I am not the only one seeing this either. We need to stop projecting blame on the individual young man but start looking at his shadowy cancer instead. The unconscious shadow of these young men is perverted and out of balance.
This shadow is in all of us, yes, it is part of us all. It is part of who we are as human beings. We need to do something creatively unique and focus our conscience and our attention on this hidden issue. Maybe, read the books of their generation or at least talk to them about these stories. The world that incarnated with them is the world of computers, cell phones and endless games online or elsewhere.
This is not a solution but an insight into this problem at hand… it is time for all of us to listen to our young men. We may not agree with what they have to say, but it is time to acknowledge the big shadow they are carrying on their backs. It is a hidden collective unconscious that acts randomly on the individual.
This is due to a buildup of repressed negativity from many cultures from around the world. It is global. The world is getting faster and faster. Technology is moving faster and faster as well. It is time to slow down again and take the path of quality over quantity. We need to show them the value of life instead of only pushing them towards fame, fortune, or wealth.
“They fill the table of the land with the first fruits.
They pour dark beer for her.
They pour light beer for her.
Dark beer, emmer beer,
Emmer beer for My Lady.
The sagub-vat and the almsari-vat make a bubbling noise for her.”
Major religions today are based on patriarchal systems, as well as patriarchal histories. I am not a feminist or a theologian, but I have some insight into these issues. I found someone who comforts me and might as well be comforting to other women and men too.
She brings balance into a world of imbalance, and she is about Spring. Christ has risen is so overdone. I have slowly pivoted to another mythology or story which occurred during the times of the Epic of Gilgamesh.
In ancient Sumer I have found Inanna.
She is Inanna Queen of Heaven and Earth and before the patriarchs came with their Gods there was a female deity. She brought equality to the sexes. She brought the joy of Sumer and the sacred marriage rite.
As an older woman Inanna’s story inspires me. In one of her stories Inanna outsmarts her father while drinking lots of beer.
I invite anyone with an open mind to study the stories and hymns from the land of Sumer about Inanna.
When we celebrate Spring, it is what it is because flowers come forth and the land warms up. There is a feeling of continuity in the air and the fragrance is feminine and beauteous!!
The Lady Who Ascends Into The Heavens
My Lady, the Amazement of the Land, the Lone Star,
The Brave One who appears first in the heavens,
All the lands fear her.
In the pure places of the steppe,
On the high roofs of the dwellings,
On the platforms of the city,
They make offerings to her:
Piles of incense like sweet-smelling cedar,
Fine sheep, fat sheep, long-haired sheep,
Butter, cheese, dates, fruits of all kinds.
They purify the earth for My Lady.
They celebrate her in song.
They fill the table of the land with the first fruits.
They pour dark beer for her.
They pour light beer for her.
Dark beer, emmer beer,
Emmer beer for My Lady.
The sagub-vat and the almsari-vat make a bubbling noise for her.
They prepare gug-bread in date syrup for her.
Flour, flour in honey, beer at dawn.
They pour wine and honey for her at sunrise.
The gods and the people of Sumer go to her with food and drink.
They feed Inanna in the pure clean place.
My Lady looks in sweet wonder from heaven.
The people of Sumer parade before the holy Inanna.
Inanna, the Lady Who Ascends into the Heavens, is radiant.
I sing your praises, holy Inanna.
The Lady Who Ascends into the Heavens is radiant on the horizon.
From the book by Diane Wolkstein and Samuel Noah Kramer, Inanna Queen Of Heaven And Earth @ 1983
